


The Warmth of Someone Else

by QueenofEden



Series: Fluff & Intimacy Prompts [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, using ur mage gf as a space heater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofEden/pseuds/QueenofEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t know you could do this.” Isabela says after a few minutes, eyelids already drifting to half-mast.</p>
<p>“I can make it rain fireballs,” she murmurs into Isabela’s hair, “You think I don’t know a simple warmth spell?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warmth of Someone Else

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt: keeping the other person warm, f!hawke/isabela

“This rain is going to freeze my tits off.” Isabela gripes from her corner of the tent, shivering for effect.

“That would be a shame, I’m rather fond of them.” Marian replies distractedly, never looking up from her book. Isabela snorts, the kind that Marian likes best because it turns into a little giggle at the end, and Marian smiles, pleased with herself. She likes making Isabela laugh.

Sticking a finger between the pages to hold her place, Marian finally looks up to see Isabela shaking her head at her. “Honestly, how are you not freezing?” she asks. Marian shrugs.

“I’m Fereldan.” she says, as though that should explain everything. “I’m also wearing actual clothes.”

Isabela rolls her eyes. “You tit.” she scoffs, and tosses what looks like a balled up pair of her own smalls at Marian’s head in retaliation. Marian ducks on instinct, but they land pitifully short of their target somewhere in the space between the two bedrolls.

Marian sighs, setting her book aside completely, her place be damned. “If you’re really that cold quit being a crankpot about it and come here.”

Isabela quirks a brow at her and sits forward on her knees, thrusting her chest out invitingly. “Ooh, is this the part where you offer to  _warm me up_?” she asks, all innuendo.

“What?  _No._ ” Marian sputters, tearing her gaze away from Isabela’s cleavage (because of  _course_  she’d looked, how could she  _not_?) in time to see ‘Bela’s smirk turn to a pout. “Later, maybe.” she amends with a quiet smile and Isabela laughs again, delighted.

“Promises, promises, Hawke.” she chides, whiskey colored eyes twinkling in the meager lantern light.

For a moment Marian wonders if Isabela will come. It’s tricky, this thing between them. Sometimes they can lie together in Isabela’s suite at the Hanged Man for hours dozing, kissing, fucking; talking about anything and nothing like true lovers. Other times Isabela is gone before the sheets are even cold, leaving Marian sated but alone. Sometimes they roll out two bedrolls because actually admitting that they’ll probably end up in the same one is still too much.  _'I don't want to tie you down,'_ Marian had told her.  _'I would never do that to you.'_ and she’d meant it. Still does, though some days the promise weighs heavier than others – whether Marian cares to admit it or not.

She does though, crawls over to Marian’s bedroll and gives her a quick, wet kiss on the cheek and a wink before settling down into Marian’s lap like she belongs there. Marian ignores the way her heart jumps, focuses all of herself on reaching out and tapping the fade with her subconscious, letting the magic curl and settle low in her belly before pushing it out into her palms where they hover over Isabela's skin, barely touching.

Isabela jumps when the heat hits her, but once the surprise passes she leans into it with an almost lewd moan, head lolling back onto Marian’s shoulder. Marian smiles, moving her hands down Isabela’s lightly freckled arms all the way to the tips of her chilled fingers and back again, smoothing away the goosepimples with the pads of her fingers.

“I didn’t know you could do this.” Isabela says after a few minutes, eyelids already drifting to half-mast.

“I can make it rain fireballs,” she murmurs into Isabela’s hair, “You think I don’t know a simple warmth spell?”

“Well you never  _said_  anything.” Isabela replies drowsily. “You’ve been holding out on me. This has potential, Hawke. Potentially s _exy_  potential.”

Marian hums appreciatively, hands moving to Isabela’s sides and holding her there. “And if I let all my tricks out of the bag at once, how would I get you to keep coming back, hm?”

When Isabela fails to answer, unease settles heavy in Marian’s gut. Had she said something out of turn? Pushed her luck too far and forced Isabela to withdraw again? But she isn’t pulling away, literally or metaphorically. She isn’t moving at all actually, and then Marian hears a quiet snore and huffs out a quiet laugh at her own foolishness.

She should wake her. They can’t actually sleep like this – at least Marian can’t – and Isabela will wake up with an awful crick in her neck if she stays like this for long but – She looks down, watches Isabela’s chest rise up and down in tandem with her own, feels the softness of her hair and the fabric of her bandana against her cheek.

_Well, maybe just for a little while_ , she reasons, already reaching for her cast aside book with a free hand.  _A few more minutes won’t kill us._


End file.
